During the summer, we do Fanfiction Fridays, this is one of our stories!
It’s over Sherlock. The fairy tale has ended. The storyteller has finished telling his tale. The clock has stopped ticking. But, has it really? Is the dragon really dead? Are you sure that the villain won’t be back for his revenge? Can you ever be sure, Sherlock? Will you ever be sure of anything again? You poor, ordinary man. I know something that you thought only you knew. Something John must never find out about. But, then again, we both know that all he is to you is someone to impress. Without an audience, the genius is wasted. Sherlock, I know what is wrong with you. You say you are bored, but we both know the truth. You’re not bored are you Sherlock? No, you’re scared. The famous sleuth has a puzzle too big for him. One he is too ordinary to solve. That is your problem, you don’t know the answer to a riddle. You need distraction from the biggest problem you have ever faced in all of your years as a consulting detective. It is driving you mad, isn’t it Sherlock? You have to reconcile the facts, don’t you. That is why you muse. How many hours have passed over this question? How long has it been since you were REALLY bored? The clock is ticking away, and you have so little time to figure me out. Tic, Toc, Tic, Toc. The bells will soon chime twelve. Ringing out the question that pounds ever on your brain, Tic, Toc, Tic, Toc. Who is Moriarty? That’s it, isn’t it? There seems to be no reason for me to hate you the way I do. There seems to be no reason why I would blow up all of London, just to get even with you. Figure it out! Deduct what you can, Sir Boastalot. Solve the riddle! Find the solution! Your time is ticking away, and even you can’t stop the clock. Wait though, can you solve it? Will you ever deduce the answer to my puzzle? You can’t. You can’t find the key to this mystery. You will burn, thinking every day, and every night, about who I am. You will never know who I am without my help, but, there is an answer key at the end of every book of riddles. That is what this is, Sherlock, the answer key. I expected that I would love watching you burn, but I can’t see the flame. I thought that when you suffered, I would taste the sweet flavour of revenge, but it is bitter, so bitter. Why? Why can’t I enjoy what I have so long anticipated? I too have mused, and finally came to this conclusion: If I can’t watch you suffer, than I will enjoy your appreciation. You can see my genius, and be amazed. You can admire my accomplishments. You have to have my story first though, so, here it is. Here is the fairy tale. Don’t be shy, Sherlock. Come listen to the Story Teller.
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